


everything in between

by uberchrome



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-26 07:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uberchrome/pseuds/uberchrome
Summary: in a world where you can only see in black and white until you find the right person, kim jongin sees in color.





	1. Chapter 1

one of the possible reasons for this phenomenon was that this was the way the heavens punished mortals for sinning. the world would be shrouded with black and white until such time that one finds and meets his other half, the one destined for his soul. this was a pairing decided by the deities. once fixed, no power on heaven on earth could ever alter such bond. some would think of this as a reward, or as a way of making life better. after all, if it was this easy to find your partner, then what more should you do? 

however, humans know better than that. 

this is pure agony.  

the determination of the right one for you based on the reaction of your rods and cones, lead to pain, unsatisfaction, and sometimes even suicide. some people spend years of their lives roaming around in order to see greens, yellows, blues-colors that they only read about in books but never experienced personally. some people have it easy. in as early as childhood, their thirst for hues are quenched. down-trodden ones pair up, enduring all the grays together. as for the unfortunate ones, they wither in old age, never having known how brightly fire can burn. 

«»

 

kim jongin opens his eyes and squints at the sunlight. 

he overslept, again. 

he isn't in his room, again. 

"about time. you've been out of it for two and a half hours," oh sehun nags at him, again. he sits himself to soak in his surroundings. jongin finds himself lying beneath a giant tree. he remembers it all now. a while ago, he accompanied sehun around the campus grounds in order to find a suitable spot for sehun to continue his readings. sehun has always been the diligent one. 

"can you please explain this concept to me? i don't get why you should increase your current income with last year's overstated ending inventory," sehuns taps his paper with a pencil. 

"last year's ending inventory is your current year's beginning inventory. now if last year's ending inventory was overstated, then your current beginning inventory would be overstated, too. an overstatement of beginning inventory would result to an understatement of net income since they are inversely proportional with each other. thus, to correct your current net income, you have to add the amount of the prior overstatement." jongin explains while examining sehun's face for signs of confusion. thankfully, he finds none.  jongin waits. there's always that extra minute of silence one needs to analyze information.  "oh, i get it now, thanks," sehun slams his book shut and shoves it into his backpack.

"why are you so smart? if i only had your brain, i wouldn't have been studying this hard." jongin doesn't say a word, watching sehun pack up his belongings. 

there are things he would never tell anyone: how consistently he tries to wake up at four in the morning to review previous lessons and read certain topics in advance, how great it feels to walk down hallways and hear people whisper about his achievements, how studying is the one thing he knows how to do well, and how pathetic it is when he fails to appreciate being the highest in every exam when all he sees is that one single mistake he had. he never tells anyone how challenging it is to be happy. it seemed to be a concept that was applicable to everyone but him. 

"care for some bibimpab? it's on me, come on,"  jongin allows himself to be towed away by the clingy hands of his closest friend. 

«»

the eatery, being a block away from their campus, is brimming with the young and their overflowing backpacks, and spilled liquor on wooden tables. too-loud coversations, too-wide smiles on pasty faces, shoulders brushing, hands intertwined, lips pursed, the scent of spices merging on air. being in this environment, he should feel as part of it as the stained glass windows protecting the scene from the world as they know it, but all that is present is detachment, the truth that he does not even know where is it that he wants to be, just that is isn't here. 

"as i was saying, you're one of the lucky ones," this was said in between bites. it is normal of sehun to throw manners out the window. "the latest consensus said that only five point ninety-one per cent of the total population could see in colors now, and this was in pairs. do you know how hard it is to find your soul mate? this is making my head spin. i'm getting older but all i see is black and white." 

"it isn't that simple, you know, i don't even have an idea who this supposed soul mate is. the people i know so far see in monochrome," and it's true. jongin has a theory that he must have met the so-called the one when he was still a kid. the problem was his parents were the kind to travel to places, leading to jongin to experience different cultures, see varied faces, encounter people. one of them must be the one, the one that gave him the very thing others search their entire lives for. the one who gave him color, and the reassurance the he will never be alone, never end his life without appreciating the blues of the sky.

"it would be easier if there was a sign when you see him. like maybe the hues would be more vivid, or something of that sort."

"that would be too much. isn't it enough that you know the one for you is out there,possibly listening to your favorite song, or watching a movie they would soon introduce to you? i think asking for that would be selfish."

"how come?"

"being able to see in color is already a priviledge, but i don't think it ends there. i think one of the challenge is being able to keep that person close to you,"

sometimes, his friend does this thing called making sense and it's times like this when he appreciates sehun's eccentricity, appreciates all that sehun has to offer. 

could it be sehun?

does he want it to be?

 

«»


	2. something to look forward to

 

sometimes, jongin does not open his eyes right away upon waking up. lids closed, he postpones reality for a few more minutes. it's game over once he opens his eyes. his day would begin. books would have to be read, questions would have to be answered in good form, and people would take from him again. they would take his time, his patience, his attention. it's all so exhausting. he wishes he could just keep sleeping forever. this is practice for death. life really does suck. 

something to look forward to in an hour: hot chocolate down his throat.

something to look forward to today: the release of his favorite writer’s new book.

he opens his eyes to get his day started.

//

not all writers want recognition. a few of them are regular people with extra demons to capture in written word. to some, this might seem like a difficult feat and that is why the world rewards people for it with terms like bestseller, award-winning, and what not. it’s not as grand as it’s cracked up to be. words are words. feelings are feelings. find a formula to make people feel through your work and everyone will consider you great.

it all began when he was in high school.

one of korea’s most promising writers today started as a collector. he would devour hundreds and hundreds of books, underline the lines that hit home, compile them in a thickening book and pore over them as if they were stardust. to his adolescent self, they were magic. they had spells that shielded him from the harsh reality of his parent’s divorce, schoolmates that always found him odd, and relatives that pitied him.

read, underline, take it all in.

to him, words have a life of their own, waiting for him to inhale its pages.

“poor kid, he’s the most affected one. hye kyo had always been selfish,” they would whisper.

“just what kind of mother would leave her family like that? what kind of monstrosity!” aunts would exclaim.

the young writer was nine years old then, but his mother kept telling him he was an old soul. “old soul, my dear, you are someone who knows more of this world than most people your age. this is the term they would use for humans who understand the world differently. they could see into the heart of things. you, my dear, have this special kind of power.”

she always called him her dear. she would always talk to him as if he was her own age. she would always be open to him. this is why he can never, ever, bring himself to detest the mother who abandoned them to be with the person who made her see color for the first time in her life, because he knew. she always told him.

while changing curtains and bedsheets, she would singsong around the house and describe different shades of red. maroon. scarlet. crimson. warm. tingly. fiery. sunlight filtering through open windows, she would compare colors to her emotions. it became impossible for him to detest someone who was so filled with life. “when i saw him, the world didn’t reroute on a new axis but the stars seemed to glimmer a little more than I remembered them doing the night before. from the moment our hands brushed, something in me shivered, some part of my heart shook, a form of a yes. a yes, he belongs in my life, a yes, he is meant to matter.”

the young writer recalls being so enthralled with that line he later on used it in his first best seller. she had always been poetic, but sometimes poetic people aren’t ones to stay.

she left on a rainy november day without a note. she already said all that she wanted to say. there was no need to keep sorry promises in paper. she wanted to chase after her happiness and that was that.

years later, when thick scars had formed on skin torn by her departure, his father could only say, “i let her go because i had grown to love her too much, to the point where i couldn’t stomach making her a prison in my black and white world.”

“don’t you hate her?”

“why would i hate someone who has given me such a wonderful kid? she’s given me a walking encyclopedia, my own little trainer in all stuff related to technology. kid, she blessed me with you and fifteen years I would like the call the most magical time of my life. she was my fairy.”

he liked to to think this was one of the reasons why stories spill out of his fingertips easily: both of his parents had a way with words. he just isn’t sure which ones are true.   

///

it isn’t that science had always fascinated do kyungsoo. in fact, when he was younger, he used to be easily bored with intricacies of formulas and what not. it was just that somewhere along the way, something went wrong. there had been a glitch, a random event he couldn’t remember, and suddenly he’s chasing falling meteorites and calculating trajectories in his adulthood.

this isn’t a fascination.

this is an obsession.

 _no, no, this is not right_ , do kyungsoo thinks. he gets up from his rotating chair and felt a deep pressure on his lower back, reminding him how long he’d been glued to his desk. at that moment, the alarm he previously set on his phone went off and he snoozed it. dinner time.

call him odd, but kyungsoo really needed those time checks. there had been an instance when he was so occupied on his project that he completely forgot to eat and drink for a day and a half, only to wake up in a hospital room. park chanyeol could really come in handy most of the time. had chanyeol been a little less noisy, then he would be the ideal side kick for the great do kyungsoo.  

the walls echoed his footsteps as he made his way downstairs. shiny wood floors, freshly painted white walls, sleek, Scandinavian countertop and top-of-the-line appliances. this is the castle kyungsoo built for himself. a home away from home.

he prepares his meal, and while waiting for his vegetables to soften, kyungsoo gets on his phone to check his online profile on this website exclusive for writers and their readers. he doesn’t and he will never admit it to himself but there’s a user he’s always looking out for. it’s weird, really, but there goes his heart, making a tiny jump after refreshing his page and seeing a new comment.

it was from the one he had been looking out for in over seven years.

his comment was three paragraphs long and it ended with the signature phrase, “thank you for showing us a glimpse of your soul. it’s lovely.”do kyungsoo—the great—could die then and there.

the white walls bear witness to the giant grin on kyungsoo's face as he finished cooking and devoured his meal in silence. 

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i don't know what i'm doing and where i'm going with this. it's been years since i wrote and i kind of want to get back to it again. at the end of the day, i just want to relearn how to tell stories. :)


	3. colliding galaxies

“why are you still reading that? are you not done yet?” the voice comes from behind jongin.

sehun drags the steel chair beside jongin, making the sleepy-eyed boy wince. “lift, don’t drag. you’ll make my ears bleed.”

“what are you, my mother? who are you to tell me what to do?” sehun’s orange backpack thuds when he drops it to the table. jongin could only guess how many workbooks are stuffed into that thing. “i don’t care whether or not your ears bleed. i hope you just bleed to death. i hope everyone here bleeds to death, jesus, you’re just going to eat in this cafeteria. there really is no need to be so fucking loud.”

putting his book down, kim jongin takes a deep breath. he studies sehun for a while. twin dents shadow the spaces between oh sehun’s eyebrows. sehun’s lips are tilted to the left. he has his defensive face on. “okay, what is it this time?”

sehun slouches. he eyeballs jongin’s orange juice tetra pack. “i failed the quiz in taxation.”

“relax, it’s not the end of the world,” jongin grabs his drink, placing it before sehun.

“but it feels like it is,”

all of a sudden, the usual buzz in the cafeteria became louder. there’s an excited stir in the air. jongin studies his surroundings. female students begin sitting a little straighter. some of his classmates started bringing out their smartphones to capture something behind jongin.

sehun murmurs, “it’s probably that quirky professor again.”

“who?”

jongin could see a girl from his previous class slyly retouching her makeup under her table. she had the same last name as him, it’s all he could remember.

“i believe it’s professor do. he teaches physics or some other hard subject for the science and mathematics majors.  i don’t know the specifics, just that he’s known for being young and some girls seem to dig that,”  

“why have i not heard of him before?”

“you’re not very observant, give it up.”

curiosity finally got the best of him. he stares and immediately regrets it.  

jongin catches the well-liked professor just as one of jongin’s professor was saying something that made professor do crack up, teeth showing and eyes curving into crescents. he could hear a girl from the next table literally _squealing_.

that professor do could cause a slight commotion just by standing in line at the cafeteria. milky white skin, rosy cheeks, jet-black hair, _shit_ that guy reminds jongin of snow white. jongin could actually visualize pheromones oozing out of the professor’s pores.

“it’s making me want to gag,” sehun mutters.

“yeah,” jongin replies, half-heartedly. “okay, let’s go back to taxation.”

 

///

 

 _it’s nothing. it really is nothing. this is curiosity, it’s all there is. there’s nothing special about that anyway. i just want to know what sort of things he would be lecturing about. yes, that’s right. this is nothing,_ kim jongin recites this like a mantra over and over.

four in the afternoon catches him walking towards the hall of their campus’ science wing. he really has no business here, but damn that sehun. if only he didn’t let it slip earlier that it’s okay to sit in one of his classes and observe as long as one keeps quiet.  

sehun didn’t provide any more details and jongin isn’t one to pry. _i’m going to just stroll here and if i didn’t see him in any of the door openings, then i’m going home._

tempting fate with his tiny dares, kim jongin walks on.

he happens to find the professor on the first door he peered into.

jongin enters through the back door, discovers he isn’t the only one drawn to the mystery.

“when galaxies collide — a common event in the universe — a fresh burst of star formation typically takes place as gas clouds mash together. at this point, the galaxy has a blue hue, but the color does not mean it is cold: it is a result of the intense heat of newly formed blue–white stars. those stars do not last long, and after a few billion years the reddish hues of aging, smaller stars dominate an elliptical galaxy’s spectrum,” professor do paces throughout the lecture hall while speaking. jongin’s taken aback with the professor’s voice. he wonders what it would sound like when singing. the tones were so deep. “the hubble space telescope caught sight of a soft, diffuse-looking galaxy, perhaps the aftermath of a long-ago galactic collision when two spiral galaxies, each perhaps much like the Milky Way, swirled together for millions of years.”

behind the professor, an image of the outer space appeared, showing specks of white dust overpowered by bigger, brilliant white shapes. professor do doesn’t sound like someone who memorized the textbook and tried to recite it verbatim. he sounds like a young kid anxious to please, to let others know of something that seemed perfectly amazing to him.

jongin thinks the world needs more educators like him.

“in such mergers, the original galaxies are often stretched and pulled apart as they wrap around a common center of gravity. after a few back-and-forths, this starry tempest settles down into a new, round object. the now subdued celestial body is technically known as an elliptical galaxy,” the professor speaks, and jongin is thinking of the galaxies that must be slowly burning themselves to be bigger than anything he could imagine.

somewhere, out there, stars are colliding into each other. gas clouds are blowing up only to come together as something grander. that knowledge kept things in perspective for jongin, even if just for a short while.

“with all these collisions, and us knowing that this is happening somewhere, some time, some light years away from us, it kind of makes our problems pale in comparison, don’t you think?” the professor asks, as if reading jongin’s mind. a few heads nod in agreement. “remember that the next time you worry about your finances, budgeting your allowance, about your partner not replying to that text message you sent last night. we’re all part of something greater, and there are things around us that are hurting themselves to be together.”

jongin bites his lip to ponder his statement, looks into the professor’s face at the same time the professor turns to his direction.

professor do smiles.

///


	4. skin & nicotine

 

 

 

there’s no way for him to think straight.

kim junmyeon is all tight limbs and labored breathing. teeth sinking unto skin, nails digging unto hips. they’ve been through this before and a countless times more. lips pressed against each other, lips searching for the hollows of bones, the insides of elbows and the undersides of wrists. compulsion, desire, thirst. they could call it what they want, and these phrases flash through their minds as clothes are discarded and thrown on the floor, as dawn gives way to night through the windows of junmyeon’s flat.

after a series of thrusts, junmyeon lets himself go.

together, they collapse to the thick mattress, catching their breaths.

the air is thick with sweat and musky cologne. junmyeon reaches out to tuck them under the sheets and gently pats his partner’s shoulder. the dark-haired man stirs, burying himself deeper into the pillows. his eyes are closed. his limbs are slack.

kim junmyeon whispers _get some rest_ and he only receives a grunt in return. he doesn’t care. this is his favorite part. when he’s wide awake and has all the time in the world to study the geography of this person’s body: the tiny valleys on his back, the steeps on his shoulder, the crevices on his hips. 

it’s so quiet that junmyeon could hear the song on his record player.

his favorite song is on repeat.

_this ain’t lust_

_i know this is love_

_but if I tell the world_

_i'll never say enough_

_'cause it was not said to you_

_and that's exactly what I need to do_

_if I end up with you_

kim junmyeon takes a deep breath and keeps his eyes wide open because their relationship is a house of cards, ready to fall the moment he keeps his guard down. this isn’t even a relationship, and junmyeon isn’t trying to turn this into one of those fairytales he has always admired, but it’s becoming harder lately.

with each meeting, each eye contact, each sentence exchanged, it’s becoming harder to bite his tongue from saying things like _, i know so many things about you, i care for you, i know what scares you the most, i have records of your favorite artists lined up on my wall so you could listen to them anytime, i want you to be mine, it must have been tough on you, i’m here now._

it’s going to end them. it’s going to end them.

selfishly wanting someone so much he can almost taste it in his mouth, junmyeon leans in against his shoulder and inhales.

_one more minute, one more hour please._

 

 

 

 

 

“i have to go,” he says and junmyeon nods casually as if his heart didn’t clench at those words. the aging round wall clock ticks eleven minutes past midnight.

he already has his clothes on, starched long sleeves and sleek black slacks. his hair is impeccable, as always. he doesn’t look like someone who has junmyeon’s heart in his teeth. in a minute, he’ll be downstairs. he’ll walk to where his car would be inconspicuously parked, gun the engine and leave without a second thought.

junmyeon wants to reach out, pin him down against the walls and their peeling brown paint, and kneel on the thick carpet.  

“yeah,” junmyeon sits up, white blanket clinging to his hips. “careful on the way out.”

“i can manage myself.”

of course. junmyeon doesn’t know what to say next. they never really spoke the same language.

“yeah,” junmyeon repeats, pretending not to see the pulsing neon lights from outside his window falling on do kyungsoo’s retreating back, pretending not to see the color and what they meant.

_should i give up or should i just keep chasing pavements_

_even if it leads nowhere?_

even after the echoes of kyungsoo’s footsteps have died down, the record kept playing, taunting him well into midnight’s cold embrace.

///

you can count the number of cars passing on the street each minute in one hand, the number of people walking in two. there are parts in seoul that are beautiful during certain hours. this twenty-four hour convenience store behind kyungsoo is one of them.

after all, any place that has soju and cigarettes is beautiful to him.

kyungsoo sits on a plastic chair and lights his cigarette.

he would run out of fingers and toes if he tried to count the number of people who told him that smoking was bad for his health, even on occasion. kyungsoo takes a long drag, mentally telling those people to go to hell.

kyungsoo rubs his hands over his face, trying to remove traces of junmyeon off his skin. kyungsoo could feel it in his muscles and back. he’s tired. _there must be somewhere i could crash on. can’t make it home in this state._

staring at the wisps of smoke with half-asleep eyes, he nearly jumps out of his skin at the mention of his name.

“professor do?”

///

one of hospitality’s unspoken rule is that you never, under any circumstances, tell a guest off for one of their vices, even when it’s causing your nose to itch and turn red. so when professor do crashed on his mouldy leather couch with the scent of tobacco still on him, kim jongin chooses to sneeze on his bathroom as silently as he can.

his hyper-sensitive nose had always been one of his problems. it’s turning red now, soon enough his sinuses would be blocked and he would have to breathe through his mouth, but of course, he can’t let professor do find out about this. after all, this is a one-time event. the professor wouldn’t want to know about his medical history in exchange for having a place to stay in for the night. it doesn’t seem like a fair bargain.

jongin examines his face in the mirror after washing it.

he seems like a decent guy. that’s probably the reason why the professor asked him immediately if he lived alone and if his place was somewhere close by, and since he was such a decent guy, jongin answered as truthfully as he could.

back in his living room, jongin approaches the slumped professor and does the weirdest thing he could think of doing at two thirty in the morning—he gently takes off professor do’s shoes and throws a blanket over his shoulders.

this isn’t an every day thing.

“good night,” he whispers to darkness, and makes himself comfortable in beside the couch.


End file.
